


Safe in His Arms

by Lassarina



Category: Persona 3
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, November Full Moon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 04:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the November full moon, Akihiko takes care of Mitsuru, and she realizes that she can trust him with the most important thing of all: herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe in His Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for AreYouGame, prompt: Mitsuru/Akihiko: trust issues - he was the only man alive who had never let her down

Mitsuru cries as her father's blood pools under her knees and soaks her skirt, great racking sobs that are unlike anything Akihiko has ever heard. He doesn't know what to do. None of them do. Ikutsuki is dying and he probably should care about that, but he doesn't. Mitsuru needs him more. He kneels next to her and blood soaks into his pants, tepid at first but growing cold in the freezing wind. "Mitsuru," he says, and she covers her face with her hands, smearing rusty red across her skin.

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she flinches away; it hurts more than any wound he's ever taken in battle, in its way. He looks up at Minato. "Take care of this," he says, because Minato's good at getting the others to do exactly what he wants. Minato nods and doesn't say much to him, but he turns to Yukari and starts giving quiet instructions.

Lights crackle back on as the Dark Hour ends. The bodies of Mitsuru's father and Ikutsuki look even more stark when the eerie green glow is replaced by streetlights.

"Mitsuru," he says to her very quietly, and she shudders. "Mitsuru, you need to call the Group so they can deal with Ikutsuki and make arrangements for your father." They can't call the police; the Group will handle it. He hopes they will, anyway.

She shakes her head, but she scrubs her hands across her face, leaving thinner tear-tracks in the smeared blood, and wipes her hands on her skirt before hunting for her phone. Her voice cracks and wavers when she talks to the person on the other side of the line. The Group comes, and the bodies are carried away. Akihko hovers uselessly; he knows there's nothing he can really do, but there's no way he's going to leave Mitsuru to face this alone.

When everything is cleaned up, and there's nothing left to do, he steps forward to walk her home. They're both so cold they're barely shivering anymore. It's almost two in the morning and he's going to have a hell of a time staying awake in class tomorrow, but this is more important. She declines the offer of a ride home from a mid-level executive, quietly at first and then more forcefully. Akihiko is about to intervene, because anybody could see that Mitsuru's had more than enough to deal with, but she solves it by turning and walking away. He jogs to catch up and stays quiet, because words aren't what she needs right now. He wouldn't know which ones to use even if she did need them.

He walks her all the way to her door, and she hesitates. "Akihiko," she says, and her voice is hoarse from sobbing. He curls his hands into fists. This isn't something he can fight.

"Yes?"

"....will you stay with me?" It's so quiet he almost can't hear it.

The fact that she asks at all tears at his heart.

"Of course," he says, though he's aware that they're both shivering violently and both of them are in blood-soaked clothes. "Do you mind if I get some clean pants?"

She blinks, then shakes her head. "Of course," she says. "I should...I should wash up. Just come in when you get back." From the way her shoulders droop when she says it, she doesn't expect him to come back.

He leaves the clothes in a pile in the corner of his room—they're probably ruined anyway—and makes only the most cursory efforts with a washcloth to get the dried blood off his skin as it flakes in rusty-red fragments. He finds a T-shirt and pajama pants that aren't too wrinkled and smell clean enough, and before he can change his mind he's hurrying back to Mitsuru's room. The dorm is deserted this late at night; if the others are awake, they're not congregating. It's just like after Shinji got shot.

He can't think about that now.

He knocks at her door, because it's polite, but she doesn't answer. He lets himself in and calls her name, just so she doesn't think he's trying to hurt her. He really doesn't want to be on the business end of her rapier.

He hears a muffled sound in answer to his call, and he makes his way slowly through her room. She hasn't turned on the lights, so he doesn't either.

She's on her knees on the tiled floor of the bathroom, and her shoulders are shaking with her sobs. She's not wearing her shirt—he pulls his eyes away from the rise of her breasts above her bra, with some difficulty—or her skirt, both lying discarded in the corner. There's a bloody washcloth on the floor next to her, and no blood left on her skin.

There are no words for this. He doesn't really remember his parents very well, but he remembers all too well losing Miki, and losing Shinji. It's not the same, but it's close. So he helps her up, and gets her wrapped in the robe that's hanging behind the bathroom door, and guides her over to her bed. She curls up tiny and huddled in the middle of it, and he doesn't know what else to do but curl up with her. As tired as he is, he's not going to sleep until she does.

When she finally falls asleep, it's almost five. Akihiko keeps his arm draped over her, and lets himself rest.

~*~

MItsuru lets herself into the hotel suite and closes the door, then just leans her forehead against it. She knows this must get easier with time, but everything still hurts. She feels scraped raw and broken. Tomorrow she has to go back to Iwatodai and participate in SEES again. She will do it, because it is her duty, but right now she can't bring herself to care about killing Shadows.

Her phone chirps at her, its noise for an incoming text message, and she smiles wearily. It must be eight o'clock. Akihiko has been assiduous about texting her every day. She digs her phone out of her purse and checks the text. _Anything I can do to help?_ it says, just as it has every night since—since the full moon.

_No, thank you. I'll return tomorrow,_ she sends back. Akihiko will tell the others, and without having to be told, he'll make sure they stay out of the way when she returns. It's strange to think that she knows exactly what he'll do, that she can count on him to do what she needs without having to spell it out.

She's not used to that.

She hadn't expected him to stay, hadn't expected him to curl up with her and hold her until she fell asleep—or to wake up the next morning and find him still pressed against her back, his hand resting lightly on her hip. She adds a note to her schedule to pick up a gift for him. He will protest and decline, but she will insist.

She stands under a hot shower until her muscles unknot at least a little. She considers calling room service for a massage, but she's not sure the auditors would approve of the charge on her expense account and she doesn't know when the lawyers will arrange her inheritance, so right now she lives on the Group's sufferance, not her father's (and her father has always been generous with her, probably to a fault in most people's opinions.) It's not fire, but the heat stings her skin just a little, and it's almost a relief to have something hurt physically instead of in her mind. Physical causes are things she can handle.

She doesn't sleep well that night, and she spends the next day being led from one meeting to the next as people with decades more experience than she try to conceal their irritation that a seventeen-year-old girl will be the head of the Group. She keeps her head high and pretends she doesn't hear them talking about how she'll need a proper husband to settle her down. Instead, she asks the questions that spreadsheets and memos won't be able to answer, and takes notes as though she is in class. She does not want this now—she _wants her father back_ —but it is something she is required to do.

She survives the day, and even stays awake on the train ride back. It is late when she reaches the dorm, and though Yamagishi and Takeba greet her warmly when she walks in the front door, neither tries to detain her. She's more grateful for that than she has words to express, so she thanks them for their concern and has the driver carry her bags upstairs.

She unpacks and changes into more comfortable attire, and checks her email for the list of assignments she will need to complete in order to make up her absence. She has been working on it while she's been gone, and her teachers graciously offered her an extension, but she is determined not to need it. She has left the French project for last, because it will be the least strenuous, and she is drained and weary. Even the familiar words look strange to her eyes. _Le subjunctif_ should be second nature by now, but she struggles to remember the proper forms for its conjugation. Three paragraphs to go. She ought to be sprinting through this as she usually does.

It takes her almost an hour to force the final three paragraphs out, and it's no good. She simply cannot review for composition tonight. Her brain feels like half-dried glue. She pushes back from her desk, irked at her own failure, and it is only then that she notices the tapping at her door.

"Enter," she calls out.

Of course it is Akihiko who stands in her doorway, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders angled awkwardly. MItsuru thinks she's surprised he waited this long.

"Come in, Akihiko," she says, and her tone is even a close approximation of her usual warmth for him.

He steps in and closes the door. "How are you?" he asks. He's hesitating on the other side of the room, and she realizes that it's because he doesn't want to intrude on her space.

She gets up from the desk to stretch, and watches him fix his eyes on the poster beside her desk instead of staring at her. It's a small gesture, but one that she appreciates. "I'm...as well as can be expected," she says. The words taste like sawdust. "I will do what is necessary."

She sees the frustration and anger on his face; he thinks she shouldn't have to, and he won't say it because it's not true. She does have to fight. It is her family's doing that this is happening at all. If not for her grandfather's nihilism, her father might still be alive.

Her bare feet make no sound on the carpeted floor, totally unlike the self-assured click of her boot heels. She walks closer until she can smell his soap and see where his hair is still a little damp from his shower. He must have gone for a late run, maybe with Koromaru.

"Thank you," she says, and she means it. "For everything."

He rests his hands carefully on her shoulder, as though he's afraid he'll hurt her with that soft touch. "It's not enough," he says.

His hands are warm through the thin cashmere sweater. She wants to hug him. Instead she shakes her head. "It meant a lot to me," she says. "Thank you."

She knows she is supposed to let him make the first move, but this is Akihiko. He won't brag to his friends about kissing her. She trusts that her reputation is safe with him because she trusts _him._ Akihiko has never let her down. He is the only man on earth for whom that's true.

She takes the half-step closer, until she can feel his warmth, and leans up to kiss him.

His hands flex on her shoulders before he very cautiously eases his arms around her, and this is wonderful—warm and comforting and yet with a thrilling little tingle that runs down her spine. He has already seen her with her barriers all the way down and instead of taking advantage of her weakness, he sheltered her. She doesn't intend to need that again any time soon, but because of it, she trusts him; she is safe here, in his arms.

She pulls his head down to kiss him harder.


End file.
